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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658514">The Spy Who Robbed Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermin_Disciple/pseuds/Vermin_Disciple'>Vermin_Disciple</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Episode: s01e10 Move Along Home, Humor, Julian Being Ridiculous, M/M, Season 1, Unresolved Sexual Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:20:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658514</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermin_Disciple/pseuds/Vermin_Disciple</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian's dress uniform has mysteriously vanished. He has his suspicions about who might have stolen it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julian Bashir/Elim Garak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Spy Who Robbed Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A few lines of dialogue at the beginning and end are from that cinematic masterpiece of an episode, "Move Along Home" (including a couple lines from the script that were cut from the aired episode).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Julian often made a pretense of forgetting things. He never quoted more than a line or two of anything verbatim, and sometimes he screwed up a word or here or there, just to ensure no one suspected that his memory was far better than it had any legal right to be. During seminars at the Academy, he periodically consulted notes he didn’t need while participating in discussions. He would occasionally ‘forget’ to bring a jacket on a night out, or ‘lose’ a sock in a lover’s bedroom.</p><p>But he always tried to choose mistakes that wouldn’t result in him making a complete arse of himself. (He did that well enough without needing to fake it.)</p><p>“Where's your uniform, Doctor?”</p><p>“I can't seem to find it, sir,” said Julian, wincing. “I mean, I'm certain I packed it.”</p><p>“Listen to me,” said Captain Sisko sternly. “This is no dress rehearsal, this is the real thing. Our first formal reception for a delegation from the Gamma Quadrant, and I want things to go right from this moment on. Clear?”</p><p>No, this was absolutely not the right time to feign a lapse of memory. And his eidetic memory, the one his parents had risked his entire future to bestow, helpfully supplied him with an image of a pristinely pressed dress uniform in Science Blue, carefully folded in his Starfleet issue duffel bag. Not only that, but an equally vivid image of it hanging in his sparse closet, a bright spot amidst the mostly-black of his standard uniforms, all of them incongruous with the Cardassian design of his new closet.</p><p>As he tried to squelch down the rising panic and slow the rapid beating of his heart, he caught Dax’s eye. She offered him a sympathetic look. The burning in his cheeks flared into an inferno.</p><p>“I'll—er—I’ll have the clothier Garak make me a new one by tonight!” he whispered, wildly, as the Wadi delegation disembarked.</p><p>Dax raised an eyebrow. “I'm not sure it's appropriate to have a Cardassian tailor make your Starfleet uniform, Julian,” she said, dry amusement seeping into her tone. “Maybe you should try the replicator.”</p><p>“Oh right, yes, of course.”</p><p>But something had struck him as soon as he mentioned his enigmatic Cardassian acquaintance. His dress uniform had been hanging in his closet, in his very locked quarters on the very secure command level of the habitat ring. Who could possibly get in <em>but</em> someone trained in the art of espionage? And what suspected spy also had a particular interest in clothing?</p>
<hr/><p>As it happened, the Wadi were wholly disinterested in uniforms.</p><p>At first, Julian had tried playing the good host to their Gamma Quadrant guests by joining in. After losing most of his monthly stipend at dabo, he’d introduced a (very attractive) Wadi woman to dom-jot, and flirted very charmingly with her for six rounds. She didn’t notice. Nor did she care when he bowed out, handed his cue over to one of her compatriots, and planted himself at a table in the corner for a good sulk.</p><p>He wondered if the dress uniform would have improved his chances. No, probably not. The Wadi seemed entirely single-minded in their pursuit of pleasure, and that pleasure did not include enjoying the company of dashing Starfleet officers.</p><p>That was something <em>Garak</em> had expressed interest in, however. <em>As you may also know, I have a clothing shop nearby, so if you should require any apparel, or merely wish, as I do, for a bit of <strong>enjoyable company </strong>now and then, I'm at your disposal, Doctor. </em></p><p>As he nursed a glass of Saurian brandy, Julian grew more and more convinced that his supposition was correct: Garak had had something to do with the disappearance of his dress uniform. But why?</p><p>Obviously, the theft of the uniform was just a ploy to lure him into the shop for… what, exactly? To pass on information through unofficial channels? To obtain information through illicit means? Unbidden, Julian’s imagination tapped into his perfect recall to conjur up the pressure of firm fingers on his shoulders and a sinuous voice saying, “<em>I'm so glad to have made such an interesting new friend today</em>.” He shivered involuntarily at the memory.</p><p>Julian wasn’t always as adept at reading people as he thought he should be, but Garak hadn’t exactly been subtle. ‘Enjoyable company’ <em>must</em> be a euphemism. That was spycraft 101, wasn’t it? Using sexual wiles to ensnare enemy agents? Well, Julian was onto him.</p><p>(Once again, his imagination, ever eager to provide unhelpful imagery, suggested that Garak’s <em>motives</em> were not quite the thing Julian wanted to get onto, or, perhaps, <em>into</em>. Julian couldn’t decide if he was <em>really</em> attracted to Garak or just the aura of mystery and danger and excitement around him. Then again, if matters were to progress to that point, he doubted his cock would care too much about the whys or wherefores.)</p><p>“A <em>fascinating </em>people, wouldn’t you say, Doctor?”</p><p>Julian nearly jumped out of his skin. Garak stepped out of the shadows behind him as if summoned by his thoughts, enigmatic smile plastered to his face.</p><p>“Oh, uh, yes, I suppose so,” he stammered out.</p><p>“I regret that I haven’t had the opportunity to speak to them myself,” said Garak, taking the seat opposite him. “I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed very engaged with one of the young ladies a few minutes ago.”</p><p>How long had Garak been watching him from the shadows? “Yes, I was teaching her to play dom-jot.”</p><p>“Putting in an admirable effort for Federation diplomacy, I’m sure. You must have done well, since she no longer requires your assistance,” said Garak sweetly.</p><p>Julian made an indistinct noise of grudging affirmation.</p><p>“They do seem quite obsessed with these—” he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the dabo tables, “—frivolous pursuits.”</p><p>“I suppose <em>you</em> don’t play any games.”</p><p>“On the contrary, Doctor. Games of strategy keep the mind sharp. I just don’t see the value in wasting one’s time on games of chance. Especially games with, shall we say, <em>manipulated</em> odds.” His eyes narrowed on Quark, skulking around the Wadi with a characteristically devious expression on his face.</p><p><em>And just what sort of game are you playing with me, my Cardassian friend?</em> Julian wondered. He couldn’t help the tremor of excitement he felt at the idea of accepting Garak’s challenge, whatever that challenge might be.</p><p>“According to Quark, dabo was quite popular with the Cardassian military when DS9 was still Terok Nor.”</p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that, I’m afraid. My knowledge of our <em>noble </em>military does not extend beyond their uniforms and how best to mend them.”</p><p>Perhaps Julian was imagining things, but something in his tone seemed… <em>off</em>, somehow, his emphasis on the word ‘noble’ nearly sarcastic.</p><p>“But surely you must have interacted with your fellow Cardassians when they were on the station,” he prompted. “No man is an island, after all.”</p><p>Garak’s eyes widened. “An island? What a curious expression.”</p><p>“It just means that no one can live without being connected to other people, in some way or other. People need people.”</p><p>People needed friends. People needed people who weren’t annoyed at the sight of you. It occurred to him that whatever his true intentions, Garak was the only person on the station actively seeking out his company. Oh, Dax tolerated his presence when he approached her, but that wasn’t the same thing. He wondered, for the first time, if Garak’s motives might be nothing more nefarious than loneliness.</p><p>“What a remarkably Cardassian notion!” exclaimed Garak, with what seemed like genuine delight.</p><p>“Really?” asked Julian, surprised.</p><p>“Cardassians devote themselves entirely in service to Cardassia. But what is Cardassia made of, if not Cardassians? It is the people, not merely the planet.”</p><p>“Does that mean you <em>still</em> serve Cardassia, even from here?” Julian tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice, but he’d never expected Garak to admit it so easily.</p><p>“Always,” said Garak. “In my own small way.”</p><p>“And what way might that be?”</p><p>“Why, by introducing travelers through this sector to proper Cardassian fashion, of course!”</p><p>Julian deflated a bit. “Of course.”</p><p>Garak reached across the table and patted his hand. The lingering touch of his cool skin left Julian feeling rather warm. “I do hope you’re not still convinced that I’m some kind of intelligence operative. I can assure you, my dear Doctor, that I am no more than I appear to be.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t be much of an undercover agent if you didn’t pretend otherwise,” said Julian.</p><p>“Ah, so if I confessed to being a spy, you would stop believing it?”</p><p>“Well—”</p><p>“In that case, you’ve caught me! I <em>am</em> a spy!”</p><p>“Very funny,” said Julian. “What are you doing here, anyway? Checking out Gamma Quadrant couture?</p><p>“Something like that,” said Garak, in his usual tone of implied obfuscation. “Forgive the observation, Doctor, but if I understand Starfleet protocol correctly, doesn’t first contact with a new species require more formal attire?”</p><p>“What do you know about Starfleet first contact protocol?” asked Julian suspiciously.</p><p>“Oh, it’s just something I overheard while mending a ripped seam.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t happen to have a more <em>specific</em> reason for taking an interest in my uniform, would you?”</p><p>“My interest is merely professional curiosity. Why do you ask?”</p><p>Was it just a trick of the light, or did Garak’s expression seem sly?</p><p>“You <em>are</em> right about Starfleet protocol — I ought to be in dress uniform, but mine has gone missing. I’m certain I packed it. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”</p><p>“Surely you’re not suggesting that I might have had something to do with its disappearance! After all, what could <em>I </em>possibly be doing in <em>your</em> bedroom.” (Julian’s imagination, inconsiderate as always, chimed in once again with several suggestions.) “But, if you like, I’d be happy to measure you for a new one. I do have patterns for Starfleet uniforms in my shop.”</p><p>“Alright,” said Julian cautiously. Obviously, this was all part of the plan. Whatever the plan was. “When should I drop by?”</p><p>“No time like the present,” said Garak, standing up.</p><p>“Now? Isn’t your shop closed?”</p><p>“One of the benefits of being self-employed means that you can open whenever you fancy.”</p><p>Julian scrambled out of his chair and followed Garak as he swept out of the bar and across the mostly deserted Promenade. What was Garak <em>really</em> up to, luring him away from the crowd and into his closed shop in the middle of the night? Another clandestine operation, like the business with Tahna Los? A dressing room tryst? Or something altogether more sinister? Was Garak planning to corner him away from Odo’s all-seeing eyes and attack him? Julian couldn’t see what that might achieve, but assassinations were generally meant to take the victim by surprise.</p><p>Well, if Garak tried anything, he’d be prepared. He was trained to defend himself. He’d go down fighting, if he had to. Hell, he might even win. Julian was much stronger than he looked, and Garak had no way of knowing that. The thought of contending with a dangerous foe in hand-to-hand combat and defeating him sent a glorious shiver of anticipation down his spine. He <em>could</em> win!</p><p>How surprised they would all be, as he came strolling coolly into ops, bruised but triumphant. How might the lovely Jadzia Dax look at him then? No more amused, tolerant condescension, but admiration and esteem (maybe even desire).</p><p>A more practical voice in his head dumped a bucket of ice on that particular fantasy. No, he should definitely avoid getting himself into any situation that might result in a physical altercation. <em>Because</em> he might win. Because if Garak really was a spy, trained in the sort of sophisticated martial arts that spies must be trained in, then it would look incredibly suspicious if Julian managed to best him in a fight.</p><p>He mentally shook himself. In all probability, (Julian had done the calculations) attempted murder was one of the more unlikely options. His mind turned back to seduction, which fit equally well with Garak’s sudden desire to spirit him away to a more intimate setting. In which case, well, he <em>should</em> probably just rebuff him politely and be on his way.</p><p>But was there was any <em>real</em> harm in going along with it? He didn’t go around sharing Starfleet secrets to all and sundry, even the sundry types he slept with. No, it was probably better to let Garak <em>think</em> that he had Julian stuck in his honey trap, when actually it would be Julian who had <em>him</em> at a disadvantage.</p><p>Yes, that was certainly the soundest strategy. (It was also the only strategy that involved him getting off this evening, which otherwise seemed an unlikely prospect.) Julian didn’t know what Cardassians kept in their trousers or how compatible it might be with what he kept in his, but at the very least Garak did have hands, and a tongue that must be good for something besides spinning out lies and innuendo.</p><p>They reached the unassuming storefront of <em>Garak’s Clothiers</em>, and Garak swiftly keyed in the code. Even when the lights flicked on, the closed shop emanated an eerie ambiance. As Garak led him to a small workroom at the back, Julian had the inescapable impression of being drawn into the dragon’s den. What awaited him there — treasure or teeth?</p><p>Garak positioned him in front of a large mirror. “Stand there, if you please, and hold out your left arm.”</p><p>“Stand… here?”</p><p>“Yes, Doctor. So I can begin measuring you.”</p><p>“Oh. Yes. Of course,” said Julian, nonplussed. Another possibility occurred to him: Garak might, in fact, intend nothing more than to take his commission for a new dress uniform.</p><p>In that case, stealing his old one seemed an awful lot of trouble to go to just to gain a new customer. However, there was always the remote possibility that the theft had nothing to do with Garak at all. But if so, why had he been so quick to point out its absence?</p><p>Garak materialized a device of some sort from somewhere and began scanning along Julian’s body, first one arm, then the other. When he knelt down, Julian’s over-heated brain nearly short-circuited. He tapped the inside of Julian’s calf with two fingers. “Spread your legs a bit, my dear.”</p><p>Julian resolutely stared straight ahead, internally reciting a Starfleet technical manual he’d once read during his engineering extension course, sternly admonishing certain excitable parts of his anatomy to calm down whenever Garak repositioned him in that rather hands-on way of his.</p><p>“There,” said Garak after an agonizing few minutes, clapping him lightly on both shoulders.</p><p>“Thank you,” said Julian awkwardly, as Garak straightened his collar. “But you really didn’t have to— I mean, I could have just made an appointment—”</p><p>“Oh, it’s no trouble,” said Garak. He finally released Julian’s collar, but didn’t take a step back. Julian licked his lips, but couldn’t tell if Garak’s eyes tracked the movement. “I thought you might prefer a little <em>privacy</em>.”</p><p>“Why would we need privacy, just for this?” asked Julian, cursing himself for sounding more nervous than suavely suggestive.</p><p>“Oh, some people feel self-conscious about having their dimensions so closely observed and assessed.”</p><p>“I don’t,” said Julian, too quickly. He spread his arms wide. “Observe as much as you like.”</p><p>Garak gave him an (appreciative?) once over, taking in his <em>dimensions</em> from head to toe with a nearly inaudible <em>hmm</em>. “A form worthy of garments far more aesthetically appealing than any Starfleet uniform, formal or otherwise.”</p><p>“I could change into something else, if you have anything you’d like to propose,” said Julian. He took a step closer, keenly aware of his heart hammering away in his chest.</p><p>“I’m sure I could be of assistance, if it pleases you.” That smile certainly <em>looked</em> like an invitation. Garak’s face was excruciatingly close to his, blue eyes bright and assessing and… <em>hungry</em>.</p><p>For a moment, Julian found himself frozen, torn between wrenching himself back from the precipice on which he stood or hurtling forward, embracing the inexorable tug of gravity pulling him down. The image of Garak on his knees resurfaced in his mind. His cock twitched. <em>Well</em>. Gravity it was, then. He leaned forward, ready to tell Garak exactly what <em>would </em>please him, and—</p><p>And—</p><p>And suddenly, Garak was gone. The workroom of <em>Garak’s Clothiers</em> was gone. The shop, the whole bloody Promenade— wherever he was, it did not look like any part of DS9 he was familiar with. He now found himself surrounded by garish gold walls embellished with strange purple symbols and shimmering gold triangles.</p><p>Had he somehow fallen into a dream without even falling asleep? Had he been in Garak’s shop at all, or had that all been playing out in his sleeping mind? When no immediate solution came to mind, he threw up his hands, banged his fists on the wall behind him, and began shouting at the top of his lungs.</p><p>To his surprise, Sisko came hurtling around the corner, followed shortly by Kira and Dax.</p><p>“What was all that yelling?” asked Dax, to Julian’s embarrassment.</p><p>“Haven't you ever had to wake yourself up out of a bad dream?” Julian responded, wondering if it was possible for this unexpected turn of events to get any worse. (Almost certainly.)</p><p>“This isn't a dream,” said Sisko. “We're guests of the Wadi.”</p><p>As he followed his superior officers, Julian reflected glumly that not only was this night going to end in work rather than pleasure, but he never did find out what happened to his dress uniform.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So what did happen to Julian's dress uniform? <em>Did</em> Garak have anything to do with its disappearance? Or is another culprit to blame?</p><p>Frankly, I have no idea. (If you do, have at it!)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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